


Poetry: A Bluefrost Timestamp

by TheIttyBitty



Series: Beyond the Bluefrosts [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Desk Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetry, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Walking In On Someone, castiel is dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIttyBitty/pseuds/TheIttyBitty
Summary: A discovery is made about the small book of poems Dean took from the airship





	Poetry: A Bluefrost Timestamp

 

The little blue book does not leave Dean's bedside table. He keeps it there, and sometimes at night he'll read a snippet or two. He doesn't have quite as much need for it as he did on the journey here when he'd been so frightened and far from the ground, but it still occupies a special place in his heart.

He spends half his nights in Castiel's rooms now, but he still keeps the book in his own. It's private, in a way he can't quite explain. Its become so important to him, so crucial to his routine, and he has the irrational urge to hide it. How would he explain how much it means to him?

 

Dean and Castiel are taking lunch in their office, they do this sometimes, if they have much to do or if Castiel is feeling particularly amorous. Today, it's the latter.

“My dove.” Castiel says, hands cupping Dean's face, “You look so radiant.”

They sit behind their desk, chairs scooted across the floor to reside close to each other. Two salads sit abandoned on the wood.

“Doing paperwork?” Dean asks, amused.

“Your graceful neck, bent to task. Your lovely hair falling into your eyes. How could I look away?”

“Is that why you're so behind on your papers?”

“Paperwork has never interested me so little. With you shining beside me, how could I ever concentrate on budgets?”

“Maybe I should do my share someplace else.”

Castiel looks affronted, “I would concentrate even less! I'd only constantly be wondering what you were doing, thinking of your lips.”

Dean laughs, despite himself. His husband's dramatics are something he's slowly getting used to. “How will you ever get anything done? How will we resolve this?”

“Kiss me.” Castiel says without hesitation.

“And you think that will help?”

“No. To try and slake my admiration for you is a losing battle. But I yearn for your lips.”

And yes, sometimes he's a bit over the top. Dean soaks up his words though, feeling them settle nicely in his heart.

“You are absolutely ridiculous.” He points out.

Castiel grins, “Of course.” He says.

“What, is that all?”

“I'll say more if you kiss me.” He teases.

“You talk too much as it is.”

Castiel sits back in his seat, hand over his chest, “You wound me!”

Dean stands and begins to shuffle his papers together into a pile.

“No, wait!” Castiel follows him to his feet, laughing, “I'll stop, I’ll stop! Please, stay.”

“I'd better start seeing better results.” Dean says somberly, hands on his hips.

Castiel grins again, snaking his arm around Dean's waste and pulling him close. “Do I get any incentive?”

“Incentive?”

“Hmm.” Castiel kisses him on the lips, “Can I have a kiss for every bit I finish? Or... maybe you could take off an article of clothing?”

“This is a public office. How did you get anything done before I came?”

Castiel's lower lip juts out in a pout, he leans his head against Dean's shoulder. “It was so boring.” He complains.

“You liar, you love paperwork.”

Castiel lifts his head to kiss Dean again. “How do you know me so well already?”

“You're incredibly easy to read.”

“You're just incredibly talented at getting things out of me.”

“Really?” Dean asks, letting himself be kissed deeper, pressed against the desk.

“Oh, yes.” Castiel confirms, grabbing Dean's thighs and lifting him to sit on the desk, “You've got such a talented tongue.”

Dean flushes as his husband's hands creep up his thighs to his ass. “Well, yours isn't exactly a layabout either.”

“Oh?”

And this is how, completely against all of his better judgment, Dean finds himself flat on his back on the desk. His trousers are crumpled on the floor, his ass hanging off the edge of the desk, feet braced on the arms of his chair. Castiel, a king, is sitting in the chair, leaning forward to bury his face in Dean's ass. His tongue wriggles skillfully into Dean's hole, thrusting in and out with fervor. His lips are at the tender flesh around the entrance, his teeth nipping at the rim.

Dean barely tries to control his thighs pressing around Castiel's head, his hands burying themselves in his husband's hair. Castiel's circlet has been knocked askew, but Dean's has completely fallen off of his head onto the floor somewhere, so they're about even.

Dean grasps the edge of the desk above his head with one hand, gasps as Castiel's skillful tongue is followed by a finger. He can't believe everything that this man can make him feel. Just as he thinks he's felt everything he can, Castiel surprises him.

“I want you,” Dean gasps, “I want you inside me.”

“Now?”

“Yes! Yes, now!”

Castiel stands, winds Dean's legs around his middle, and touches the tip of his cock to Dean's entrance. Of course, just as he starts to push in, the door opens.

“Sirs, could you- _oh my god!_ ”

“Samandriel!” Castiel bellows, moving quickly to cover Dean's body with his own. Unfortunately, this movement also works to sheath Castiel's engorged cock completely in Dean.

Dean gasps and cries out as he's skewered, tossing his head and arching his back. He's so full, and Castiel's cock is pressed wonderfully against his prostate. 

“ _Yes!_ ” He gasps, unable to help himself.

He hears a clatter, and when he finally opens his eyes he can see Castiel's secretary- _their_ secretary, Samandriel, standing in the doorway. His hands are over his mouth, his eyes comically wide. On the floor by his feet lies a fallen stack of paper and a pencil.

Above him, Castiel rolls his hips. “Samandriel,” He says again, “Shut the door.”

Stumbling, stuttering, and blushing red as a tomato, Samandriel hastily shuts the door.

“With you _on the other side_.” Castiel growls.

Samandriel looks like he might faint, he scrabbles with the door handle like it's covered in lard.

When he's finally gone, Castiel relaxes above him. “Well, I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

Dean, too, is embarrassed, but perhaps not quite as much as he should be. He pushes his heels into the small of Castiel's back to get him moving again. “Do you think everyone will find out?”

Castiel thrusts into him, kissing him on the mouth as he does. “Maybe they'll finally learn to knock.”

 

In a change of pace, Castiel follows Dean to his rooms as the night grows late. It has been a long day, and in the morning they'll have to deal with a traumatized Samandriel. Not the worst day Dean has had by far, but he's tired. 

Undressed and laying down, Dean expects Castiel to take quick advantage of his nudity and the bed, but instead his husband only wraps an arm around Dean's middle and pulls him close. He nuzzles into the Dean's blond locks. 

“You're so clever.” He says.

Dean reaches down to tug the blanket up over both of them. “Why do you say that?”

“Everything is to much easier with you by my side,” He runs his hand up Dean's bare side, but it's less lusty than it is tender, “My work takes a fraction of the time.”

“Well, we're two people instead of one.”

Castiel tuts, not to be argued with. “The most brilliant king on sea or land, here in bed with me? Laying with me? Taking my hand? I'd call it a miracle if I thought you wouldn't laugh at me.”

“You're being ridiculous again.” Dean accuses, pushing back at Castiel's shin with his toes, “I'm nothing special.”

“Now who's being ridiculous?”

“Still you.”

“We can be ridiculous together.”

Dean closes his eyes as Castiel burrows closer to him, “I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I?”

“Of course you do.” Castiel says seriously, “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, of course not.”

“ _Of course not_ , you say. As if I deserve you.”

“Stop that.” Dean chastises. 

“That may be the only thing I can't do for you.” Castiel admits, “Can I kiss you instead?”

“I suppose.”

Dean rolls onto his back and accepts kiss after kiss from Castiel, whose hand trails up and down Dean's chest, up his neck to his jaw, down his arm to his hand, he slides their fingers together. 

Dean knows it's late, but he can't be bothered to worry about it, not when he's warm and his husband is determined to kiss him senseless. 

At long last, Castiel begins to tire. He presses kisses to Dean's eyelids instead.

And then, very suddenly, he stops.

“What's that?” He asks.

Dean opens his eyes and follows Castiel's sharp gaze to his bedside table, where the little blue book sits inconspicuously on its own.

“The book?”

Castiel nods.

Dean rolls away from him, to swipe the book from the table and bring it back over to his sleepy king. He holds it out and waits for Castiel to take it with a hesitant hand.

“Where did you get this?” 

Dean looks away, abashed. “It was on the ship, the Dancing Lady. I- I took it, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

When Dean looks back at him, he doesn't look angry. He's looking down at the book with an unreadable expression on his face, then back up to Dean, curious.

“I... I enjoy the poetry.” Dean admits, “It's very beautiful. On the voyage, it helped me endlessly. I was so afraid and, somehow, reading the poems helped. I couldn't bare to leave it behind.”

Castiel looks back down at the book. “I see.”

“You should look through it. You might find something you like.”

“I know the poems.” Castiel announces, handing the book unceremoniously back to Dean.

“You know them? Have you read the book before?”

There's a beat, Castiel opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I wrote them.” He says. 

“You... what?” He can't be hearing right.

Castiel wets his lips. “I wrote them.” He says again, he takes a breath, “I was nineteen, and the loneliest I'd ever been.” His wings shiver as he speaks, betraying his emotion, “Poetry, as it were, was my only outlet.”

“I can't believe this! You're a poet?” 

Castiel looks confused by Dean's sudden enthusiasm. “I suppose I dabble.”

“It's beautiful.” Dean tells him again, “I love them.”

Castiel blinks, he breathes, “If I had known then that I would have you,” He shakes his head, “How different things would have been. I would never have worried about being alone.”

Dean reaches out and traces the line of Castiel's lower lip with his thumb. “I'm sorry you were lonely.”

“I'm not. I would live it over and over again every day of my life if I only knew I would get to spend an hour with you.”

Dean huffs, but his heart is here, with Castiel. “Maybe you should write that nonsense down instead of saying it aloud.” 

Castiel beams, as one having a brilliant new idea. “Maybe I will.”

 


End file.
